


Allegiance: Judgement

by Robin_Mask



Series: Allegiance [5]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Biracial Character, Family Drama, Fantastic Racism, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Parenthood, Teenage Drama
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-05
Updated: 2014-07-14
Packaged: 2018-02-07 14:05:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1901811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Robin_Mask/pseuds/Robin_Mask
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Loki had never meant to pass his curse onto his daughter. He loved her as deeply as Thor did, but he did not love the burden that had been placed upon her. Now everyone knew: they knew she was a Jotun. He owed it to her to her to stop the tears . . .</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jadedheart26](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jadedheart26/gifts).



> This is a two-shot belonging to the "Allegiance" series.
> 
> It can be read alone.

# Chapter One

****

“Do not waste ingredients, Kóri.”

 

Loki spoke coldly. It was clear that his son felt a grave sense of shame at being chastised as he had, especially when his desire to please Loki had been evident on his face from the start of this little experiment, and he appeared to freeze midway through the act of throwing in the rare herbs into the bowl. There was a slight paling to his usually tanned skin and he clenched hard onto the herbs with such intensity that it spoke softly of fear, as if he believed himself to be in trouble for his act.

 

It had not been Loki’s intent to scare the child, but the herbs his son had been about to waste were hard to come by and would be impossible to replenish in his current state. He could feel an ache low in his belly from how his daughter pressed against him, as well as an intense sweat from the fevers that made his clothes cling to him like a second-skin, and the fact that this would be his final pregnancy did not make it easier to bear in the slightest. It was difficult to walk, but to sit still seemed to make Valdís inside him kick and stir, as if she missed the gentle rocking motion when he walked, and he felt frustrated by even the slightest of things. He was in no mood to teach.

 

“Do you know the value of what you hold?”

 

“No. I read that it smelled sweet when used in medicines. I thought it would make you feel better, because then the cream would smell sweet when you used it and you seem to like sweet smells. I apologise, Father. What did I do wrong?”

 

“This herb only grows in one particular realm and only at a very particular time, as such we only use it for very specific types of medicines. You also forget it has properties other than smell; there some ingredients that are strong enough to be absorbed through the skin, and this is one that may induce labour or create a great sickness. You will research this herb and write an essay on its properties.”

 

“In the library? Faðir always looks there for me. He says I have to train.”

 

“Then go at night. Your father will not look then.”

 

“Really? I _knew_ training was not important!”

 

Loki felt a spark of pride that his son had learned well the movements of their family, enough to know where he would be looked for and why they would search for him, and – as such – he seemed to have mastered the art of hiding at a considerably young age. It was true that Thor would be outraged to know that Loki encouraged their son to hide from him, but he had promised only to _talk_ to their son, not to change his behaviour or to encourage weapons training. Kóri had already mastered the basics of fighting and duelling, and anything else he could learn perfectly well alone and from the books that filled the library. Their son needed his independence.

 

The floor was filled with various herbs, vials and pieces of equipment. It was almost like an apothecary or the working space of Eir, and yet Loki did not object to his living area being taken up by such a project, for both parent and child knew that this would be the very last place that Thor looked for the younger boy. There were several books to Kóri’s side, as well as a pestle and mortar to his other, and before him sat a large bowl in which he used to mix the ingredients. He seemed at home.

 

It was difficult to stay angry with the boy. He had found Kóri alone in his rooms in an attempt to create a skin-cream for Loki; it was an attempt to win favour with one father whilst escaping the attentions of his other father, and Loki – having promised Thor to have words with the boy – saw it as a way to kill two birds with one stone. It had not gone unnoticed how his son’s eyes had lit up on sight of Loki, or his constant babbling as he explained eagerly the usages of each ingredient, and it was also not unnoticed how his face had fallen or his eyes watered each time he was criticised.

 

“Come,” said Loki, “let me show you properly.”

 

He moved as carefully as he could through the maze of items, just as he noted that even the sofas and tables had been used as part of his son’s mission to create a present for his father, and – with great effort – he braced himself on the arm of the sofa behind him. It took a great deal of time to lower himself to the floor beside his son, but the back of the sofa gave him some relief as he leaned against it. He felt a bead of sweat fall from his temple, whilst he panted for breath from exertion.

 

“You have made an admirable first attempt,” Loki said.

 

“You would have done better.”

 

Loki looked gently to Kóri. There was no doubt that his son felt inferior in comparison, especially by the way his blue eyes clouded and his lips pouted, and suddenly Loki felt his heart tighten as if in a vice. He never wanted his son to feel second best. Kóri placed the rare herb before him on the floor and stared at it longingly, whilst his hands played with the hem of his beige trousers. Loki noted that his blond hair had grown rather long, but it would be cruel to mention it to him, for he only strove to look more like the father he admired. He was also sensitive, so the criticism would only make it seem as if Loki did not want his attention.

 

“I did not come into this world knowing everything.”

 

“Faðir says you did.”

 

“Your father did not mean it seriously,” said Loki. “I was born knowing nothing, as we all are. It was your grandmother that taught me all that I knew, and – I suppose – that it is my time to teach you all that I know in turn. It was something that I had hoped to avoid, for I doubt sincerely that I will make a good teacher for you, but if the alternative is for you to waste valuable resources . . . I see I have no choice.”

 

“I am sorry, Father! Please do not be mad!”

 

“I am not mad, but honoured.”

 

He looked to his hand and clenched it briefly. It stole his attention for a moment, just enough to give him time to reach a needed decision, and he lifted his arm and pulled his son up against him. The body heat from his son was almost painful, enough to penetrate through the layers of clothing and scorch his skin, but he bore with it and used his hand to lightly stroke the blond hair just under his touch. He remembered how it comforted Kóri as a baby when Thor would do the same, and he hoped that it was still something that Kóri enjoyed now that he was eight years of age.

 

“You have a far greater knowledge of magic than your father or sister,” said Loki. “I am also loath to admit you know more about fighting than I did at your age. You have talent. You are special Kóri. You may be lazy and underachieving, but I see potential in you. There are no other people that I would be willing to teach, but I am willing to teach you, and not just because you will be the best, but because you _are_ the best.”

 

“I nearly wasted an important ingredient,” replied Kóri. “Fríða cannot be beat when it comes to wielding weapons or using her fists, and everyone agrees you are an expert on magic and illusion. What if Valdís is better than I am? What will I have then?”

 

“My love and my admiration for having such a wide skill set.”

 

“You have to say that, Father.”

 

Kóri nuzzled against him and frowned. It was heartbreaking to see his son look so downhearted, but at the same time he felt frustrated by the extra heat against him, especially so when his son leaned his head against his swollen stomach. He was certain that Valdís was days from being born, for she seemed to have changed position and the weight of his son put a great pressure lower on his body. Loki drew in a deep and shuddered breath. He tried to put Kóri’s feelings before his comfort, and as such he gently hugged his son close to him and continued to stroke his hair.

 

“I only _have_ to say it when your other father is around,” admitted Loki. “When we are alone I can be as honest with you as I like, and – I swear this to you upon my life – my honesty is a very difficult thing to earn. It is a privilege known only to a few. Know this: Valdís will never replace you and Fríða cannot compete with you. Now, get to work. You are too easily distracted and there is a potion to be made.”

 

“Yes, Father! Do you promise to help me if I get stuck?”

 

“No, but I will watch you with interest.”

 

This seemed to please Kóri. He was clearly thrilled to have his father’s full attention; he crawled back to his spot at great speed and then sat firmly with a big smile, and all the while he would constantly look up to make sure that Loki watched him. He would occasionally ask questions, whilst sometimes Loki would volunteer information without being asked, and they kept up an easy rapport as his son worked. Kóri listened raptly to every word that his father uttered. It was pleasant.

 

It was clear that their son was too lost in his task to notice Thor enter, for he was too excited to be given free rein to practise his favourite subject and to spend such quality time with his father, and as such it was only when Thor stood directly behind him that he looked up from the mortar and pestle. He stopped grinding the herbs and blanched. There could be no mistaking the frustration on Thor’s face, especially when their son had broken his sword in a tantrum earlier that day and hid for the rest so as not to be made to study, and yet Thor remained quiet. It remained a stalemate of stares for the longest of moments, until Kóri eventually – albeit nervously – returned to his task.

 

They remained in an awkward state of silence for a long time, before Thor turned to face Loki where he sat. The dark cape that covered his armour kept his arms and hands from show, so that it became difficult to read his body language, but Loki could see the anger barely contained in those blue eyes – eyes just like their son’s – and he could see the way that his lip was white from the pressure of the teeth. Loki smiled warmly and waved his hand in a widely theatrical manner, as if to prove a point.

 

“Loki, it is not wise for you to sit there.”

 

Thor bent over to offer Loki a hand, but the younger man merely gazed hard at the offered hand and then looked back up to his husband. It was frustrating indeed to be left helpless during the pregnancy, but more so to be expected to obey unspoken commands as if he no longer knew what was best for his body or for his overall health. He simply rolled his eyes and watched once more as his son worked diligently at the ingredients and herbs spread before him. He would not move.

 

“I wished to sit by my son,” said Loki.

 

“He should not be in our rooms, Loki! Kóri was supposed to be training today. Do you know how furious his tutors are for his absence? I asked you to speak to him in turn for speaking with Fríða, but instead you enable him in his games!”

 

“You suggested that I tutor him, did you not? I admit that it was not an option that appealed to me, but you were correct when you said it would be for the best. He will study his magic today, whereas tomorrow I will teach him to hone his fighting skills, and I sincerely doubt he could learn more from the fools you charged to teach him. What reasons have I to lie to you? He will learn to wield a sword, I swear it.”

 

“Loki, if I find that you are allowing Kóri to slack in his duties -! We will discuss this in private later. Kóri should not be in our rooms, but nor should you be on the floor when you are ready to birth our daughter! You must not exert yourself. I know that you love our son, but you cannot prioritise one child over the welfare of another!”

 

“Valdís is not yet born! The only welfare at stake is my own!”

 

“I will place you under house-arrest, if I must.”

 

Loki clenched his fists. The last time they had argued in such a manner had been during the pregnancy of Fríða, where Loki’s determination to hide the pregnancy and labour had put their daughter at great risk, but he had already been under house arrest during that time. They had not experienced the same issues with Kóri, for Loki had treasured every moment of the pregnancy. This was different, however, for Valdís had surprised them and Loki was reluctant to give up his current freedoms. 

 

It was an insult unlike any other for Thor to threaten house arrest once more, for they both knew that Loki cherished his freedom above all else, the loss of this was the sole thing in life that he feared. There came with this the realisation how serious Thor was, for he would never do anything to hurt Loki intentionally, especially when it played to his deepest fears, but Loki could not help resent how his husband’s feelings appeared to take priority over his own. There was much to be said for the argument that their daughter was to come first, for whilst she lay inside Loki then it required putting him second, and that was a thought he could not abide. He kept her safe: that was enough.

 

“I sometimes fear you lack feelings for Valdís,” said Thor.

 

Thor took that moment to sit beside Kóri. He sat between his husband and son, so that he could reach out to gently stroke his son’s hair, but was able to also keep eye contact with his husband. Kóri rolled his eyes at his father, a subtle gesture that Thor luckily seemed to miss. It seemed that his husband had perhaps been right, that his children were playing favourites, as such they would need to organise family time together to resolve the issue. Thor loved Kóri too much to not be hurt by this.

 

“This is not a discussion to have with our son present,” said Loki.

 

“It is true though, is it not?” Thor asked. “Fríða was planned, albeit forced, but you loved her from the moment that you learned of her conception. We planned for Kóri too, so that you treasured every moment that he grew within you, but Valdís came to us by chance alone. I know that you love Valdís, but I fear you may resent her existence. Is that why you sit like this and put her at risk?”

 

“Do _not_ make me insult you before our son!”

 

“Do not risk Valdís’ health!”

 

Kóri gave a little wince. It was enough that Loki was forced to draw in a great breath, for if he did not then he would have spoken out of turn and only upset their son further. He easily forgot that his son was more sensitive than most, especially so when Fríða had been the one to inherit her father’s temper and his stubbornness, so that fights to her were a natural part of her life and the lives of the warriors she surrounded herself with. Kóri instead took these arguments to heart. He internalised them. 

  
It was then that Thor noticed his mistake, for at once he reached out to Kóri and pulled him to his side for a warm embrace. Kóri nuzzled closer and nudged his father’s arm out of the way, so that he could rest upon the side of his chest, and Thor smiled and let his arm drape over their son’s shoulders. It was endearing to watch. Kóri was a very affectionate child and thrived on contact, although he was not one to endure fussing and coddling well, and so these moments were a great reassurance for him. Thor was far more affectionate than Loki could ever hope to be, and as such these were moments for father and son to bond. Thor’s presence reassured his son.

 

“Do not fret, Kóri,” said Thor. “We do not fight.”

 

“No, not at all,” continued Loki. “Your father is an oaf that fails to realise I love all my children equally, even if some are easier to understand and appreciate than others. _Thor_ , the sole reason I distance myself from Valdís is that I deeply fear losing her, as such every time I allow myself to form an attachment there comes an overwhelming fear of the grief that may follow. You know this.”

 

“I apologise. I know you would never willingly do anything to put our children at risk, regardless of how their existence came to us, but I know how tired you have been and how taxing this pregnancy is for you. Why make it worse upon yourself? Why do you act in a way to make things more difficult?”

 

“My children come before all else. Kóri needed me, so I sat beside him.”

 

“Valdís needs you too, Loki.”

 

Loki clenched his jaw to the point that he feared his teeth might shatter. His breathing became a series of hisses, just as his heart beat a painful rhythm in his chest, and his anger was immense. He and Thor had agreed on all things during his pregnancy with Kóri, but this time was different and every action that Loki took became a point of contention. He remained silent, simply as he already begun to plan the ways that he would take revenge upon Thor later, even if it would cause Fandral to remind Thor that Loki’s pranks were no longer so funny when he was on the receiving end.

 

“You work too much,” said Thor. “You act as an agent of my father, for what reason I know not, but the missions that he tasks you with often exhaust you. The rest of your time is time spent training or running between the healers or raising our children, but this cannot be good for you or our daughter. When do you rest? Even now you exert yourself by forcing yourself upon the floor like a child.”

 

“This is the last child we shall have, Thor, and it is nearly over. Let us not fret about my actions, for in a few days it shall matter not and all of this shall be at an end. You said that you would speak to Fríða, I would rather speak of that instead.”

 

“You still put our other children before Valdís, Loki!”

 

“And you put Valdís before the others! Talk!”

 

This would not be an argument easily settled. There would no doubt be much shouting and bickering once their son was out of earshot, but a part of Loki did not mind this. The pregnancy had the side-effect of making him suffer bouts of rather desperate need, which – when added to their sometimes intense fights and Thor’s passionate nature – led to evenings of a rather pleasurable exhaustion. He tried to refrain from antagonising Thor purposely, for if he noticed he would withhold all acts.

 

It was clear that Thor wished to ignore all other conversation, for he sought only for Loki to rest and lie comfortably, but that was something that Loki could not do. They held vastly different ideas on what their priorities should be, more so on how best to raise their children and how to prepare for the birth of their final daughter, and as such they seemed to argue more often these days, for it was difficult to understand one another and compromise seemed synonymous with defeat, and yet – much to the confusion of the Allfather – their love seemed stronger than it had ever been. Thor was as foolishly sentimental as ever, for he often argued that it was only because their love was so strong that they could overcome such obstacles.

 

Eventually Thor gave a heavy sigh and adjusted his position, so that he sat against the sofa also and now sat beside his husband. Kóri gave a little groan, as if the movement had irritated him, and it was clear that their son was starting to fall asleep in the arms of his oldest father. Thor simply smiled and leaned down to kiss Kóri’s head, as he looked lovingly to Loki and reached out to take his hand in his, and simply allowed their hands to lock together between them upon the floor.

 

“I think he has fallen asleep,” said Thor.

 

“You have that effect on many people,” Loki teased.

 

“You stop!” Thor held back a laugh. “I am angry with you, do not make me laugh!”

 

The sudden jerking motion of controlled laughter seemed to jostle their son, who groaned again and this time adjusted his position, so that now he rested his head upon his father’s leg and wrapped his arms around his father’s arm, as if using him in place of a teddy bear. It was sweet indeed, but Loki felt an intense wave of shame for having allowed his son to grow so tired and work past his limit. He should have noticed Kóri grow sleepy and put him to bed far earlier. Thor would not mention it or shame Loki for it, but he did not need to for Loki to realise the error of his actions.

 

“I am sorry,” said Loki. “I let him overwork himself.”

 

“Not at all. It is nice to finally know where he is. I fear so often lately he hides from me, so that it feels that these are the only moments in which I am able to spend time with my only son. I digress. You wished to speak of Fríða?”

 

“You promised to speak to her about her . . . _associations_ . . . with that boy. I did not mind the way she socialises with that blacksmith’s daughter, nor do I mind the way she constantly trains and does little else, and _nor_ did I mind her latest excursion to Jotunheim – an excursion, _I may add_ , that I still do not think her ready for, lest she start some new war as you once did! That boy is where I draw the line!”

 

“Aye? Then you will be glad. Vígi will likely not trouble our daughter any longer. It seemed there was an incident on their excursion; they followed a wild beast too close to the Jotun city, their royal guard escorted Fríða to the Bifrost. They held her by the arm for the entire time. Vígi saw the change that took over her.”

 

“No. Do not say such things to me, Thor. _Please._ ”

 

“I would not lie about this, Loki.”

 

It was true. He could see the heartbreak in his husband’s face, along with the expression of pity in his eyes, and the way he squeezed Loki’s hand indicated that he clearly thought the younger man in need of reassurance. Thor did not lie. He spoke the truth; it meant that his daughter had endured the most humiliating experience of her life, whilst losing all respect of her comrades. She would feel ashamed and dishonoured, but worst of all was that she would blame Loki as he had once blamed Odin. He had passed this affliction to her. He had made her a monster.

 

“Vígi appeared frightened by her transformation.”

 

“Of course he would!” Loki snapped, “What fool wouldn’t be?”

 

“Loki, our daughter ran before he could fully react! She called for Heimdall to take her, whilst leaving her friends behind! They returned not long after, but by then she had hid herself deep within the palace! He may not reject her as she fears!”

 

Loki scoffed at this and drew back his hand. He loved Thor deeply and respected him greatly, but his husband was naïve and did not understand the burden that had broken Loki so many years ago on its revelation. It had been the undoing of him; Loki had always doubted himself and felt inferior to his husband, but the knowledge that he had been a Jotun had confirmed his worst fears and explained just why he had been overlooked as he had, and no baseless sentimentalities could convince him otherwise.

 

There had been a feeling in his stomach thick and heavy upon seeing his blue skin for the first time, as if his breath had been stolen from him, as if his organs had revolted upon the sight by refusing to work. He could still remember well had time had ceased in that moment, just as he remembered his nearly silent cry and the way he felt faint, but most of all he remembered how he felt so hopeless, so filled with an all-consuming dread. The Jotun were monsters. He had believed that he would lose all the respect that he had earned, just as he knew that he would never find love from any other, and he felt true terror at the idea he would be abandoned . . . abandoned as he had been by whatever Jotun had borne him. He had felt this all and more.

 

The idea that Fríða could feel this way sickened him. He could not help her conception or her birth, but he had hoped greatly that she would be saved from this curse, so that she could live her life free from the shackles of her heritage. She was a beautiful child in Asgardian form, as well as intelligent and adventurous, and so this was an affliction that she did not deserve. Thor trivialised their plight to spout such idiotic reassurances, for there was no doubt that a Jotun was unlovable. Vígi would not want Fríða now. No one would.

 

“Is there any way that we can hide this or resolve this?”

 

“No, Fríða knows she is Jotun,” said Thor.

 

Kóri stirred in that moment. He rolled onto his back and looked up at Thor with unfocussed eyes, where he then rubbed his eyes with his balled fists. It was a beautiful sight, which reminded Loki of his husband when first awakening, but he could only look for a brief instant. He was forced to turn his head and close his eyes, because the knowledge that his daughter suffered for his faults caused his emotions to well within him. He could not risk becoming teary-eyed before his son.

 

“Am I a Jotun, too?” Kóri asked sleepily.

 

“No,” said Loki. “You are beautiful, Kóri. You are a strong, _pure_ Asgardian. It is true that you have Jotun blood, but you were born as perfect as you are now. The only difference is that you may – _may_ – be able to bear young as I did you, but let us pray that will not happen . . . it will not matter unless you are an _ergi_ , in any case. You are no Jotun, my son. Take faith in that.”

 

“Loki, do not say such things! You _are_ perfect, Kóri, but not for the form you hold or the skin that you wear. We could not choose what form your sister was born with, but – even if we could – I would not have chosen any differently for her . . . she was just as beautiful as you were, but simply in a different way. She is perfect, too.”

 

“Yes, she _is_ perfect, Thor, but my fear is that she should _lose_ that perfection.”

 

“I think Faðir is right,” Kóri murmured. “I like Fríða . . . sometimes.”

 

“It is time you slept, my son,” said Thor.

 

Kóri groaned and shook his head. He rolled onto his side and hit Thor rather hard upon his leg, although it was difficult to tell whether it was an act of a temper tantrum or a misjudged amount of strength, and as such Thor simply drew in a sharp breath. It was clear that he would not discipline their son, but solely as their son had already begun to fall asleep once more. He sighed and took Kóri into his arms. The boy began to whine and cry, but Thor merely stood with him and laid him upon the sofa.

 

“I want to stay awake,” he muttered.

 

“Sleep, I will wake you in the morning, son.”

 

It was an argument easily won, for no sooner had Thor pulled down the black throw had their son fallen into a deep sleep. Thor gently placed a cushion underneath the boy’s head, whilst he cuddled into the black fur, and – as he placed a kiss to those blond locks – Loki flicked his wrist to turn down the lights. There was a long moment where Thor simply watched Kóri sleep, as if he had forgotten that Loki needed help in standing from his position, but eventually he turned to his husband.

 

Thor reached down to offer Loki a hand, which he gladly accepted. It took a great amount of effort for Loki to find the strength and balance to rise to his feet, by the end of which he had broken into an uncomfortable sweat, and yet it seemed that Thor did not mind the sight of exertion in the slightest. He simply smiled, whilst he stared lovingly at his husband’s swollen stomach. Loki panted with the effort of having stood, as a bead of sweat trickled down his temple from his fever, and yet Thor did not notice any of this in his overly sentimental display.

 

Loki rolled his eyes and made his way into their bedroom, although it took him longer than he would have liked to walk into their personal space, and no sooner had he made his way inside did he feel a sense of exhaustion. It was a difficult feeling to endure, for it was mixed with an intense need to be with his husband. He sat awkwardly on the edge of their bed, where he found some relief in once more being off his feet, but the conflicting feelings of desire and tiredness came together to make him feel nothing but frustration. The situation was only made worse by his intense guilt and shame, for he had ruined the life of his daughter by giving to her the blood of his ancestors. He feared she would never forgive him.

 

He looked up when he heard Thor close the bedroom door softly, but not before he cast one last look to their son with a rather childlike smile. It was clear how much his husband loved the boy, even if he felt great frustration with his disobedience and his sometimes tantrums, and – when those doors finally shut – he could see a hint of sadness on Thor’s face. Thor walked over to Loki and leaned down to give him a chaste kiss, before he began to undress for the evening.

 

“You will let him sleep on our sofa?” Loki asked.

 

“I would rather have him sleep in our bed,” answered Thor, “but I did not think it appropriate when I held such high hopes for our evening. I spoke to Eir and she says that it may be beneficial to you . . . you are late with Valdís, after all.”

 

“ _That_ is all you think about? Fríða’s life is ruined!”

 

“Loki, you cannot -! I wish that you would not speak so coldly about Fríða’s heritage! It is a part of her, whether you like it or not! Our daughter is beautiful and brave, with a swordsmanship even the Warriors Three envy, but all you see is the form with which she was born! She is more than that, Loki! You speak of the Jotun no better than Father did, and as such she has inherited your fears! She should not feel as shamed as she does! She should feel proud!”

 

“Proud of _what,_ Thor? Tell me that!”

 

Thor threw the last piece of clothing to the ground. It was frustrating to Loki to see such a mess, but in his condition he had no choice other than to leave the servants to tidy after his husband come morning. He glared hard at the scattered articles, even as his husband wandered about in a state of complete undress, and as such he avoided the angry look that his husband sent his way. Thor stormed a path to his side of the bed and threw back the light sheets, which he climbed under at once.

 

It was an impressive sight, which Loki could not deny, for the sheets draped over Thor and clung to him like a second-skin. They were gathered loosely low about his waist and allowed much of his chest to remain on show, as well as the curve to his back and the jut of his hips, and at once Loki found himself beginning to grow distracted at the sight. He drew in breath and tried to remind himself of the sacrifices that his husband had made; Thor did not suffer the fever of a Jotun pregnancy as Loki did, and as such he would suffer from the cold and lack of furs, not only that but he strove to constantly put Loki and Valdís before all else.

 

“I have offended you,” said Loki.

 

“No, you have offended our daughter!” Thor rolled onto his back. “Fríða should be proud of the skills that she had worked hard to earn! She should be proud of the family that loves her unconditionally! She should be proud of you.”

 

“She _should_ be proud of me, but she cannot. Thor, you do not know what a burden it is that Fríða and I share! I hate myself for having given to her this curse, but now that her true form has been revealed she has lost _everything_! It is one thing to have Jotun blood, but another entirely to look like those creatures, and what if our people turn against her? She may lose the right to rule, as well as all her friends!”

 

“You are right, Loki, I do not know what burden you feel! I do know that you underestimate our daughter, however. She is strong and will overcome this, but not if you ignore the matter or treat it to be some great tragedy! Do not make worse her fears! Console her! I swear, if Valdís is born with Jotun form -!”

 

“You shall what, Thor? Will you force her to wear her Jotun face?”

 

“Aye, just as I should have done with Fríða!”

 

Those words took Loki aback. There had been little debate about their eldest daughter’s appearance at the time of her birth, for they had been in the midst of a war and had she worn the skin of a Jotun then she would have suffered unnecessarily. Loki had assumed – in all his prejudice – that they would automatically allow their second daughter an Asgardian form in turn, but clearly his husband felt otherwise. Thor was unfortunately a man of his word. He may have been angry, but that did not mean his words rang false. He intended for Valdís to wear her true skin.

 

“Why do you feel so strongly about this?”

 

“Fríða has deep feelings for Vígi,” said Thor. “I know that my father once wished for me to marry Sif, but I held no romantic love for her and so it could not come to be. I could not force feelings that did not come naturally. This is where we differ . . . I see in Vígi a potential suitor for our daughter, but she agrees with my judgement and sees this in him too. It may be that our children can do what we could not.”

 

“Do you fear the loss of a strong alliance, Thor? I fear you are too selfless to put your kingdom before your child. No, it must be that you fear Fríða’s attachment to Vígi will be the cause of great grief. You fear she will be hurt by his potential rejection.”

 

“Would you not? What would you have felt, if had I rejected you?”

 

“Unsurprised.”

 

Thor raised himself upon his elbows. It was difficult to ignore how the sheet fell to an almost indecent position, but Loki found enough self-restraint not to try to distract his husband from the discussion at hand, instead he locked his eyes with Thor’s and tried to communicate silently the depths of his self-doubt. It was enough to make his husband smile sadly and fall back upon the bed, but he reached out a hand to signal for Loki to join him. Loki realised that – even now – he had yet to be rejected.

 

“Join me, Loki.”

 

It was difficult to follow such a request, for Loki abhorred the idea of undressing in front of Thor when so heavily with child, but it felt inappropriate for him to retire into the dressing room to change at such a point in their discussion. He needed to know that he trusted Thor, just as much as Thor trusted him. He cast a look to the bedroom doors to make certain that they were still closed, before he slowly began to undress, careful to keep his back to Thor so that he would not see his stomach.

 

Loki only turned to enter the bed once his clothes were neatly folded and placed upon the nearby _chaise longue_ , and even then he kept his eyes low to avoid his husband’s watchful gaze. The smirk on Thor’s lips was almost impossible to ignore, just as he could not ignore the instant touch upon his stomach as he climbed into bed, and suddenly he was pulled into a warm embrace as Thor lightly stroked patterns above his unborn child. It was torture to be fussed and coddled, but more so when he could not bring himself to criticise Thor for only doing what came natural to him. He loved Valdís. It was true that she had yet to be born, but that did not stop Thor from fretting over her and pining for her. She would likely be the most spoiled of all their children.

 

“You lie even now,” Thor murmured.

 

“You accuse me of lying? I would ask you to elaborate.”

 

“Loki, I fear that you would take any rejection badly. You lie when you say that you would not be surprised, but it seems to me that what surprises you most is your own reaction to rejection. You hate to feel vulnerable. To be rejected means you must first place great trust in a person and that is something you rarely do . . . any rejection is a betrayal, which for you would hurt more than most. Fríða is like you in this regard.”

 

“Fríða is also social like you, which means that her vast amount of friends will enable her to find support more easily, and perhaps even to replace this Vígi with another, unless – of course – word spreads of her form. What do you _want_ from me, Thor?”

 

“To talk to our daughter.”

 

Loki scoffed loudly. He flicked his wrist and watched as he room became dark, for he could not bear to look Thor in the eye at such a moment. The truth was that their daughter idolised Thor, to the extent that she sought to emulate him and do all that she could to make him proud, and Loki feared that his husband would be a far better choice to talk about such a sensitive subject. He interlocked his hand with Thor’s and held tight. It was a small comfort, but a comfort nonetheless.

 

“Loki, you are the only one that knows how she must feel.”

 

“She will not wish to speak to me.”

 

It was a difficult confession to make. He felt Thor draw in a deep breath, but at once his husband began to place comforting kisses upon his neck, as well as to use his free hand – arm just under the crook of Loki’s neck to rest upon – to stroke Loki’s hair. The touches were relaxing and made him feel loved, but the heat from the body of his husband was almost unbearable, and suddenly he needed and wanted space.

 

“I have no doubt that you are the _only_ one she will wish to talk to.”

 

“Do you wish for me to lie to her, Thor? I cannot pretend that all is well, not when her closest companion has seen her true form. There is no guarantee that Vígi is like you, that he will see past this, and she will hate me for having brought this upon her.”

 

“Loki, _talk to her_. That is all that I ask of you.”

 

“What do I get in return for doing this?”

 

“Aside from your daughter’s love?”

 

Thor tightened his grasp, before he gently rolled Loki over to face him, and at that point he gazed at him through the darkness of the room. It was impossible to ignore the subtle smile to the lips of the other man, just as he could not ignore the way Thor rubbed light circles upon his lower back and moved impossibly close to him, so that soon he found his swollen stomach pressed upon and an uncomfortable pressure. He ignored it for the long and passionate kiss that followed.

 

It was when Thor broke the kiss and pulled away that Loki felt the loss of his husband’s presence, and – for a brief moment – he tried to imagine a life without Thor and a life in which they had not married. He would have rotted in his cell until he either escaped or was released, just as he would have never have won Thor’s trust, and he would have done everything in his power to win the throne that he felt owed to him. There would be a crown for certain, no daughter and son, and no daughter on her way to complete their family. Fríða was a blessing and a gift. He owed her everything. 

 

“I ask you, Loki,” begged Thor. “Please. Talk to her.”

 

“Very well, I swear to you. I will talk to her.”

 

“Thank you, my love.”

 


	2. Chapter Two

# Chapter Two

 

Fríða was beautiful.

 

It was a fact that Loki could not deny. There was just something about her that spoke of a rich and noble heritage; the royal blood that ran through her veins had been the very blood that gave her the beauty she exuded, and as such she appeared every bit of the princess that she was. It was understandable why she had so many suitors, especially when combined with her status and strength, and it was a great relief that she knew how to best any man in battle. She knew how to protect her virtue.

 

Fríða lay upon the sofa in her room, but in such a way that she seemed positioned exactly like her brother had been when Loki had left him. He had expected his son to be awake when he had left his chambers, for Kóri slept as erratically as Loki often did, but – even after he had entertained his husband, bathed and rested – his son had remained fast asleep in their living room. Kóri must have been more tired than Loki had been aware, just as Fríða must have been far more worried by the day’s events than he had anticipated. It was well after midnight. Fríða usually slept by no later than the early hours of morning, so as to be well rested for training. This was unusual.

 

“I did not expect you to be awake,” said Loki.

 

There was a heavy sigh from his daughter. She rolled onto her side and looked across the room to the closed doors, where Loki stood patiently before them. It was almost endearing to look upon her, for her green eyes were half-lidded with her attempts to fight back sleep, and she seemed almost helpless and delicate beneath the many furs and blankets over her frame. He was reminded of the baby that he once held. He was reminded of how she had looked in his arms, how she would only be pacified by Thor’s presence at night, and how she had been his baby. The sense of nostalgia sickened him and annoyed him, but it was a side-effect of carrying Valdís; she made him . . . sentimental.  He sighed in turn.

 

He noticed that Fríða wore a black vest to sleep, likely with shorts to match, and he felt back a deep desire to chastise her for such revealing clothing. The attempts at banning said attire had long been ignored; his husband allowed such clothing, for he claimed it to be an expression of self and easy to manoeuvre in during battle, and – as such – Fríða had chosen to obey the parent whose decision agreed with her own. Loki felt tempted to one day hide all of the clothing of which he disapproved, but he did not wish to enter any more arguments with Thor. It was not worth the outcome.

 

“Is that so?” Fríða asked. “Why come here then?”

 

“Perhaps I merely wanted to check upon you? Perhaps I merely wanted to make sure that you were safe and comfortable? Perhaps I intended to awaken you as punishment for forcing me to attend to you? Take your pick, child.”

 

“Perhaps you just wanted to be able to say that you _tried_ , an excuse to leave the heartfelt talks to Faðir so that you could avoid awkward talks between us? I would not have blamed you. I would have pretended to have been asleep had I heard you coming, because it would have spared us this. You should go. I do not wish to talk about it and you do not wish to hear about it.”

 

“Your father spoiled you too much. You believe that only he loves you.”

 

“No. I _know_ you love me, but I do not wish to talk.”

 

“Then we shall suffer together.”

 

Loki brushed down the front of his robe. It was somewhat embarrassing to be reduced to a nightshirt and a robe, especially when it made him feel like the Allfather during his long sleeps, but he reminded himself that it was a necessary evil. He was not an old man yet. It was only when he was sure that his nightwear and loose hair were tidy, free from any possible imperfections, he walked across the room to his daughter.

 

He struggled to find the strength, as he felt tired from his time spent tutoring his son and his time spent alone with his husband, but he would rather endure this necessary evil now than to let it cut into his time tomorrow. It was difficult to walk, as with each and every step he felt the press of Valdís low upon him. The feeling was hard to endure, but impossible to explain, and it felt both like a need to relieve himself and a blow to the abdomen. It was faint, but soon it would grow. He managed to find himself a seat on the sofa opposite his daughter, as he smiled at how her rooms had once been his own, and as such he felt comforted by the familiarity. 

 

Fríða rolled her eyes at his posture, for he sat back with legs apart and hands clasping his stomach as if to support the weight. It was the exact type of pose that Thor constantly criticised his daughter for, but – as with so many rules – she ignored him for as long as Loki acted in a manner that she felt could excuse her own, as such she had still to learn to sit and stand in a more regal fashion. Loki had tried briefly to use his pregnancy as an excuse, until Fríða pointed out that his behaviour was constant.

 

“You should not be sitting with me like this,” Fríða chastised.

 

There was a moment where he thought she referred to his position. It was only when she sat up, cross-legged and clutching furs to cover herself, that he realised such a chastisement would be hypocritical. Her long blonde hair fell in loose curls about her face, much like the curls of Loki, and her green eyes bore deeply into his stomach. It was clear now what she meant: he should not exert himself when with child. He refused to take criticism from a seventeen-year-old girl.

 

“Do not become your father,” he snapped.

 

“There are worse things to be,” she replied. “He is right, you know. You risk your health and my sister’s far too much. Is there a reason why you could not have spoken to me tomorrow, if at all? You should be asleep right now, not enduring an emotionally difficult discussion at roughly four in the morning. I also do not know much about magic, but even I know that potions create fumes that will be inhaled.”

 

“Ah, at least your reasoning provides a change in tune. If you truly wish to be like your father, be sure to mention the many excursions and missions I partook of until my third trimester. Your sister will be fine. I endured far worse with you.”

 

“You were forced to endure worse then. What is your excuse now?”

 

“You have a bitter tongue when you are troubled.”

 

Fríða had the decency to look shamed. He saw how she lowered her head to play loosely with the hem of one of the furs across her lap, whilst her green eyes narrowed and appeared bloodshot, and the mixture of grief at having lost Vígi merged into her guilt at having hurt Loki. Fríða usually strove to emulate Thor; she was vibrant and energetic, she was optimistic and cheerful, but tonight her usual self had been replaced by this shadow of a person. The only thing she retained was her arrogance.

 

“Are you always troubled?” Fríða asked.

 

“Even now you seek to insult me? You are lucky your father is not here. He would not abide such insults against my person, no matter how hurt you may feel. What do you seek to gain from pushing me away? I only wish to help you.”

 

“Do you not understand? That is why I seek to push you away, Father! There is very little you can do to fix this, because what can you do to make Vígi see me once more as a woman and not as a Jotun? I also find it difficult to believe that you could advise me, for how can a man look after another when he can no longer look after himself? I love you, Father, but you are the one I turn to for solutions, not for support!”

 

“I understand your pain,” replied Loki. “It is why your father holds the misguided notion that I may be of help to you. It is true that I can find no easy solution for this, which hurts me more than words can say, and yet – despite my feelings of helplessness – I know that you feel worse. If this is all that I can do, let me do it.”

 

“What good will talking achieve? It solves nothing!”

 

“It is all we have. Whom would you fight?”

 

The desire for battle was clear in her eyes. They had thankfully instilled in her a sense of self-control that Thor had lacked at her age, but still Loki often feared she would one day go out on an errand and come back with a war. Fríða took no insult against her person lightly, just as she did not understand the concept of ‘sparring’ and took every fight seriously to the point of great injury, and battle was her solution to all disputes. It was likely she felt as helpless as Loki, albeit for different reasons. 

 

This had been part of the reason why he had been reluctant to speak to her. Fríða was so much like her father that the two shared an innate understanding of one another, so that Thor always appeared to know just what to say to make his daughter feel better about her circumstances, and in turn she understood him well enough to respect him and show gratitude for his words. In contrast, Loki had been the one to ‘fix’ problems. It was something of an unspoken deal between both parents, where Thor would be the one to offer emotional support and affection, and in return Loki would be the one to converse with tutors or heal any wounds or to offer any discipline. He could not remember having ever spoken to Fríða about such serious matters before.

 

“You cannot hack and slash your way through every problem,” said Loki.

 

“Faðir sent you, did he not? He always sees to me when I am sick or saddened. He always knows just what to say, but today you came in his place. Do not mistake me, Father, for I am grateful for your presence, it is just . . .”

 

“You would be more comfortable discussing matters of the heart with him.”

 

“That is precisely it. I know I can turn to you, but this is different.”

 

“This is love?”

 

Fríða must have heard the bitterness to his tone. She picked up a cushion that she had used as a pillow, before she threw it half-heartedly at him. He flicked his wrist to stop it midair with a smile, so that dropped to the floor, but she only frowned as if she wished to chastise him for using any magic that may drain him. It was likely that she had not even truly aimed for him, for she would do nothing to risk harming him during the pregnancy, but the thought only irritated him. It did not matter what effect she had intended, for the cause was clear: she was angry.

 

“This is why Faðir would have been a better choice!” Fríða shouted. “Is it that you think me too young to understand love, or do you instead think that Jotuns such as ourselves are incapable of love? Do not mock me. It is more painful from you.”

 

“I do not seek to mock you,” replied Loki. “It is just that I believe you deserve the best! This boy is not good for you. He has a fool for a father and a mother colder than the depths of Jotunheim . . . I do not mean to speak ill of your father’s friends, but you must be aware a child is the product of its parents! What do you think such people would teach their son about the Jotun race? What do you think he feels?”

 

“I know what he must feel! I know that he must despise me! Why do you think that I feel this way? I would never hide otherwise, for you have taught me well to face any slur and prove my slanderer wrong, but this . . . what of this? I can hide my skin, but I cannot hide the knowledge of what I am. I cannot change what Vígi must feel.”

 

“Then you must hold your head high. Pretend the truth hurts you not.”

 

“I am not like you. I cannot do that.”

 

It was then that Fríða fell back against the sofa. She stared upwards to the ceiling and appeared to allow herself to be distracted by the moonlight upon the plaster, for it moved and shifted into intricate patterns that were both beautiful and eerie all at once. This was the type of evening in which she would break curfew, where she would camp with friends in a secret hunt or sneak into a bar to drink until dawn, but tonight she sat alone with her father. It was heartbreaking to see her reduced to such a state. It felt as if he had delivered to her this curse personally, and he loathed himself for it.

 

He watched her run a hand through her blonde hair, and he noted how her tanned skin seemed all the darker as of late. There were far too many similarities between his son and daughter, especially when both resembled their father greatly, and he found himself beginning to hope – although he would never admit to such a vain secret – that Valdís would look and act more like him than the rest of her family. Fríða rested her arms across the back of the sofa and then looked across to him.

 

“You are known for your silver-tongue, Father,” said Fríða. “I have seen you use it to your advantage many times, especially so when politics have been involved, but you know as well as I that you detest using it unless you have set the terms for it. You hate the insincere platitudes, to be made to ‘bond’ or ‘console’, and you loathe having to explain simple matters to simple minds. You are not patient. You prefer to play games with those that prove to you to be worthy opponents.

 

“You do not wish to be here, but I hold it not against you. I simply wish you to know that I understand your sacrifice in being here, but – more than that – I understand the difference between your genuine attempts to console and your words spoken out of duty alone. Be honest with me. Do not pretend as if everything will be okay, for we both know that this is not the case. Do not think this a criticism . . . do not think that I resent your presence . . . just – if you cannot offer the support of Faðir – offer instead the honesty only you can give. I would prefer sincerity to empty words, but I realise that is all you can give. I ask for truth instead: I have always been able to trust you.”

 

Loki looked down at his hands. It was difficult to see them, beyond the bump that now held his fully developed child, but he could not help other than to pick at his skin and to look at the fingers just in his sight. He found it difficult to hear her express a desire for honesty, for the truth was that anything he could say would hurt her considerably. This was why Thor was better suited to comfort their daughter. He would have known what to say and how to say it.   

 

“The truth would hurt you,” he said softly. 

 

“How could it hurt me any more than I already hurt?”

 

“Do you wish to hear that you may never be loved, Fríða? We look too small and too Asgardian – even in our natural forms – to be considered Jotun by our people, and as such they would reject us just as they rejected me as a child. We are nothing to them. That is to say _nothing_ of how I have betrayed them _multiple_ times, as such they would never trust you and any illusion of trust would merely be a manipulation of yourself.”

 

“I do not want the love of a Jotun!” Fríða cried. “I want only the love of Vígi Fandralsson! I am no fool, Father! I know that you seek to distract me, but talk of the Jotun will not make me forget my home or my people! Vígi is Asgardian, he -!”

 

“He will likely see you as a monster,” explained Loki. “I see how red your eyes are from the tears you have shed, but how many more will you cry over this boy? Your father seeks to reform our realm, to build better relations between our realm and all others, but such changes take time. We exist in a cold war. There have been two major wars in less than a thousand years, Fríða! Our people have as much reason to hate the Jotun race as they do us, as such animosity is to be expected!”

  
He winced as Valdís kicked. It was enough to force his hands to come up and press against the spot, much as he used to do to open wounds or painful burns, but there was nothing that he could do to stop such an internal pain. The pain radiated not too far below his ribcage, whilst a strange sensation caused his stomach to roll and a pressure to occur on his bladder. He sometimes wondered if his daughter responded to his emotions, for she seemed to kick and punch at exactly the times when he was stressed beyond endurance. Kóri had been an easy pregnancy to endure, whilst Fríða had not brought an excess of discomfort, but Valdís was troublesome indeed.  

 

It was difficult not to notice how Fríða looked at him, for she clearly held her tongue and sought to tell him to go and rest. He merely shot her a dark glare that spoke volumes of what he thought to such an unspoken suggestion, as he would not bow to anyone and least of all his daughter, but she simply rolled her eyes at him and curled her lip with a sharp sound that was somewhere between a cough and a groan. He ignored the disrespect and reminded himself that she was just seventeen.

 

Loki remembered well that age. The quest for love and the worry of rejection would have been alien to him at seventeen, but for Thor it had been a daily tribulation. He remembered well how his husband would chase after a parade of women, each day falling in love with someone new with all the intensity of the one before, and yet he had never objectified those women, he had merely been a . . . hopeless romantic. It was clear that Fríða was much the same way. He knew that she had flirted with a few boys in the previous year, but it had all been to get Vígi’s attention.

 

“It may take _centuries_ for public opinion to change,” warned Loki.

 

“So what? In the meantime, I am to suffer the slurs of my people and the ostracization of my peers? You were raised Asgardian! No one knew what you were in order to shun you! I cannot go my whole life alone!”

 

“You may have to, Fríða. It is lucky that your father and I are young, perhaps too young to have borne a family and to influence a realm of people, but this is a blessing in disguise. If your father is successful in building good relations with Jotunheim, it may be that – by the time we pass and you are able to rule – you will be accepted by our people and able to rule peacefully. Until then you must bear this.”

 

“Is this what it means to be half of one race and yet half of another? I am seen as a Jotun by my people, unfit to be amongst them and to rule them, but I am too impure to be considered Jotun even by those that share my blood. I am neither one race nor another. I am nothing to everyone!”

 

“You are everything to me.”

 

Loki looked to his daughter. He felt a surge of relief when he saw that she believed his words, for – had he been in her position – he would not have believed it at all. She was stronger than he was and recognised her worth, but she was also intelligent enough to recognise the difficulties that her mixed race would bring, and her resentment of this fact was understandable. He drew in a deep breath to calm himself.

 

“You must understand, Fríða,” Loki pleaded. “We told you from the start of your heritage and your blood, but we thought such honesty would prepare you for this inevitable eventuality. I was far older than you when I learned the truth . . . when I saw my true form . . . this is a lot to deal with at your age, as such I am proud with your maturity. The fact is that – to some – you may not be quite the monster that the world perceives you to be . . . there are some that see the Jotun as diverse.

 

“These people are few, but they will grow as more information about the Jotun culture is distributed to our people, until then . . . I warn you not to be fooled by those that will claim to love you or know you. There is a form of discrimination just as cruel as outright hatred, where many people will see you as something exotic and wild, a creature to be tamed or used according to their will. You must not mistake such perversions as a genuine interest. That being said, you know well the story of your ancestor that loved his Jotun queen beyond all else . . . he never remarried or laid with any other woman after her death. There is also one other who loved a Jotun:

 

“Your father managed – against all sense and reason – to love me as I am.”

 

“You say that as if it is a surprise! He loves you unconditionally.”

 

“Aye, I know that now . . .”

 

It was then that Valdís kicked once more. He frowned and clenched his fists tightly, for his unborn daughter began to irritate him beyond all reason. It was almost enough to make him believe that she sought to punish him for having made such a mistake, as if she wished to remind him that he had always been loved by Thor, but such a thought was a foolish one indeed. The truth was that – even until recently – he had not believed himself worthy of love, so that he still doubted himself and their relationship, but finally he realised that Thor loved him as much as he loved Thor. He knew that their relationship was one to last. It seemed that Fríða could see this too.

 

“Do not be surprised should you not find love,” said Loki. “It is a possibility that I cannot deny, but I cannot deny that love is not an implausible or impossible thing for you to find. I thought myself nothing, but your father saw what I could not. It is only now – after decades – that I begin to see myself through his eyes, and that I begin to feel the worth that I had once believed beyond my reach. You are not hopeless.”

 

“How can you say that, Father? Vígi saw my form. He saw it! So too did my friends, but – as much as I trust them – how can word not spread? Our people likely know the truth of my form. How will they ever see me as anything other than Jotun now?”

 

“Then you shall set a good example for Valdís, I am sure, Fríða.”

 

“Faðir still wishes for her to remain in her natural state?”

 

“He will not be reasoned with.”

 

Loki could not bear to look at her. He did not wish to see the likely horror and fear upon her face, but – likewise – the idea that she might support her father’s choice terrified him beyond all else. It was so easy to envision a future in which his unborn daughter would be mocked and bullied for her skin, in which she would have all her achievements dismissed and her actions overlooked, and perhaps this would turn her into the very monster that their people feared. It was his greatest fear.

 

He understood that Thor strove to create peace between the two realms, and even that their daughter could stand as a symbol of what could be attained and an example of what a Jotun could be, but Thor failed to realise the pressure of such an expectation. It had broken Loki on its revelation. There was also no guarantee that such an idea would work, and – if it should – the only thing to protect Valdís would be her status as a royal princess. The very thought that their child could be used as a some sort of social experiment, or to make a political point, angered him more than anything else in their realm. He knew Thor meant well, but he worried . . .

 

“Fríða, I –”

 

The bedroom door opened behind him. Loki heard the distinct sound, almost as if these were still his rooms and it was his brother sneaking in to gossip after curfew about the day’s events, but these were no longer his rooms and this would not be his guest. He imagined that it was Thor that slowly – and quietly – opened the door and clicked it softly shut behind him, because his husband would worry should he have found Loki out of his bed so late, but he had done his duties as a husband well this evening. Thor should be far too exhausted to awaken this deep into the night. It was suspicious enough to make Loki turn to see.

 

It was Vígi. The boy stood before the door and looked terrified, but rightly so. He had just been caught sneaking into the rooms of a royal princess, by her father and prince consort no less, and this small hour left much room for suspicion. Loki suppressed his rage when he realised that this was more than presumption on Vígi’s part: this was _familiarity._ Loki prayed to all that was holy that Thor still slept soundly, for he would have this boy’s blood should he be aware of this. Fríða was still his baby girl.

 

Loki massaged his temple and turned back to look at Fríða, who – at the very least – had the decency to look embarrassed. He would not discipline her for this, for this was an ordinary part of adolescence, but he would be forced to hide it from Thor in fear of his husband’s hypocritical anger. It did not matter that Thor had maidens in his room at this same age, as his anger would know no bounds regardless of that. He would explode into a rage and ban Fríða exit from the palace.

 

“I am sorry, Prince Loki,” said Vígi.

 

The boy quickly came into the centre of the room and stood between the two sofas, where at once he dropped to his knee in a bow. Loki signalled for him to stand, as he tried to ignore the reason why this boy would be in his daughter’s rooms, and looked at him coldly. Vígi’s black hair was cut short like his father’s, whilst his face looked so much like his mother’s that Loki felt almost comforted by the sight of it, for Sif had proved to be a rare friend to him during his time as prince consort, even if she had been as cold as Loki himself. He waited for the boy to speak.

 

“I wish to speak to Fríða Thorsdóttir,” said Vígi, “with your permission, Prince Loki.”

 

“You clearly do not need my permission for a habitual occurrence.”

 

“I will not lie to you, my prince,” Vígi admitted. “This is embarrassing indeed, and you may punish me however you see fit, but I do confess to visiting these rooms often. I would give you assurances of my commitment to your daughter and my unconditional loyalty to her, but I fear there is no time for such words. Fríða has hidden from me all day! This was the only way I knew how to speak with her!”

 

“Well, that is reassuring,” mocked Loki. “Very well, I shall leave you to discuss matters, but be sure to be gone by dawn. I will not be held responsible for my husband’s actions should he find you here.”

 

“Thank you, Prince Loki! Thank you very much.”

 

“I will speak to you tomorrow, Fríða.”

 

Loki struggled to stand, but he felt grateful that neither offered to help him. The younger generation seemed to recognise his desperate need for independence, as such they only helped him when it was absolutely necessary, but it was a gift that he rarely received. It was true that Thor had great reason to be overprotective, for Loki had made little to no effort to change his habits or lifestyle during the pregnancy, and as such the healers constantly criticised him for putting Valdís at risk, but – the more his husband pushed him to be ‘responsible’ – the more he felt a desperate need to separate himself and reassert his authority over his body.

 

He panted slightly from exertion as he stood. It seemed that Vígi did not even notice his discomfort, but solely because he had yet to take his eyes away from Fríða. Loki refrained from rolling his eyes, although he did maintain a long look of disbelief, but he could not bring himself to be too angry when he saw the sheer worry and absolute admiration in the young boy’s eyes. Vígi loved Fríða in some form, enough that – even if it were simply a childish infatuation – he still saw her as a friend and loved companion. It gave him hope that Fríða had not lost all after all.

 

“Do be responsible,” he said.

 

He heard Fríða scoff and Vígi splutter as he left the room. It was enough to cause him to smile, but the smile was soon swept away when Valdís gave a particularly painful kick to his ribs. Loki allowed himself to fall back against the doors, grateful for the cool air in the hallway, and tried to ignore the sudden clenching that began low about his body. He half-suspected that labour was on its way, which clearly was a thought shared by the guards that looked to him with concern. Valdís kicked again.

 

“Don’t you start,” murmured Loki. “Unless you seek to see me soon?”

 

“Prince Loki, do you need assistance?”

 

Loki knew that the labour pains had not yet begun and his waters had yet to break, as such it would simply be an easy matter of walking to the healing rooms and sending word to Thor. He knew his body too well to dismiss this as nothing, but likewise it was far too early to worry the palace when Valdís would be many hours away, and yet he appreciated her manner of greeting him. She would soon be in his arms and he would have yet another child to fret about. She was a welcome nuisance already.

 

“No, I believe we shall be fine.”

 

 


End file.
